She glanced again at the indicator; conserving gas as well as she could, it was nevertheless rapidly disappearing. Ten minutes more, perhaps—and then a watery grave! She grew panicky, more for her companions than for herself. She would have to tell them of their fate.
Trying to keep her voice from shaking, she called into the speaking-tube:
“We’re out of gas. We have to come down. Be prepared to jump clear of the ship!”
Chase and Dot looked at each other in incredulity. The young man thought Linda was joking, but the girl knew that it was not her chum’s habit to make ghastly jokes. If Linda said danger, she meant it. Desperately Dot reached for the glasses and peered anxiously about them in all directions.
Linda, her lips tight and her heart tense, continued to guide the plane and to watch the indicator. Five minutes more, perhaps—and then—what? The hungry waves, tossing beneath her, seemed to make their greedy answer.
A sudden hysterical cry from Dot sounded above the roar of the motor.
“Land!” she shouted, wildly. “Bank to the right!” And then, fearing that Linda had not heard her, she repeated her message through the speaking-tube.
Although Linda could still see nothing with her naked eye, she did as she was told, thankful that she was high enough in the air to gain considerable distance by gliding. Two minutes passed; the gas ran dry, but now the island was in sight. By careful manipulation, Linda thought she could make it.
With a series of side-slips, she gradually made her approach, coming nearer and nearer to the land as she descended, until she was actually over it. Then, with a dead-stick landing, so much easier with an autogiro than with an ordinary plane, she slowly came down on the sandy soil of the beach!
“Oh, thank Heaven!” cried Dot, in an ecstasy of relief. “A miracle, if there ever was one.”